Christmas trips at lightspeed

Carole Moore

By Carole Moore

Published: Sunday, December 22, 2013 at 10:49 AM.

I am a veteran of Christmas trips.

My father was in the Navy and, unless we lived overseas, we traveled to my maternal grandparents’ home every Christmas. It was a long, long trip made even more insufferable by our father’s unwillingness to stop so we could avail ourselves of the restroom facilities along the way. Basically, we had to time our bathroom trips with refueling stops. That’s not easy for little kids. Nor was it easy for a mother who had to use the bathroom as often as we did.

Daddy handed us a coffee can with a plastic lid and told us to use it if we had to pee while he was driving. For a 7-year-old in the back of a Rambler station wagon traveling 90 miles an hour along an interstate in the pitch darkness, trying to pee in a coffee can wasn’t Mission Impossible, but it wasn’t easy. We probably missed as much as we hit. But Dad was unimpressed with our protestations. He only stopped for gas and highway patrolmen.

Daddy wasn’t all that interested in getting to our destination. To him, true Christmas joy meant driving like a bat out of hell, one of his favorite pastimes. Whether he had two days or two weeks leave, it made no difference. If it was a holiday visit, we were damned well going to get there faster than a speeding bullet.

We didn’t stop to see Christmas lights or even eat. He had mom pack food so he didn’t have to waste time on all of the annoying things that constituted ordinary life. Dad viewed the Christmas trip home as a contest between him and Father Time. Fueled by gallons of black coffee and road adrenaline, he sat in the pilot’s seat barking at us to sit still and stop fighting and playing old time country music on the radio.

In the spirit of Christmas, my sister and I spent these trips trying to rip one another’s hearts out, or at least shift the blame for whatever was annoying our parents from ourselves to the other one. Our favorite holiday argument centered around which one of us got to sit behind Daddy. I always won. It was the best seat in the house because, while Dad could smack the idiot behind Mother while driving, he couldn’t reach the one behind him. I might have been an idiot, too, but I was the idiot who was the hardest to reach.

My father was in the Navy and, unless we lived overseas, we traveled to my maternal grandparents’ home every Christmas. It was a long, long trip made even more insufferable by our father’s unwillingness to stop so we could avail ourselves of the restroom facilities along the way. Basically, we had to time our bathroom trips with refueling stops. That’s not easy for little kids. Nor was it easy for a mother who had to use the bathroom as often as we did.

Daddy handed us a coffee can with a plastic lid and told us to use it if we had to pee while he was driving. For a 7-year-old in the back of a Rambler station wagon traveling 90 miles an hour along an interstate in the pitch darkness, trying to pee in a coffee can wasn’t Mission Impossible, but it wasn’t easy. We probably missed as much as we hit. But Dad was unimpressed with our protestations. He only stopped for gas and highway patrolmen.

Daddy wasn’t all that interested in getting to our destination. To him, true Christmas joy meant driving like a bat out of hell, one of his favorite pastimes. Whether he had two days or two weeks leave, it made no difference. If it was a holiday visit, we were damned well going to get there faster than a speeding bullet.

We didn’t stop to see Christmas lights or even eat. He had mom pack food so he didn’t have to waste time on all of the annoying things that constituted ordinary life. Dad viewed the Christmas trip home as a contest between him and Father Time. Fueled by gallons of black coffee and road adrenaline, he sat in the pilot’s seat barking at us to sit still and stop fighting and playing old time country music on the radio.

In the spirit of Christmas, my sister and I spent these trips trying to rip one another’s hearts out, or at least shift the blame for whatever was annoying our parents from ourselves to the other one. Our favorite holiday argument centered around which one of us got to sit behind Daddy. I always won. It was the best seat in the house because, while Dad could smack the idiot behind Mother while driving, he couldn’t reach the one behind him. I might have been an idiot, too, but I was the idiot who was the hardest to reach.

As many families, military or otherwise, hit the road this season and head for home, I wish them safe trips to their destinations. Let’s hope none have to rely on coffee cans and seating strategy to make their trips more enjoyable. From our house to yours, have a Merry Christmas wherever the road might take you.

Message from fallen Jacksonville SEAL’s sister

If you're looking for a gift for the person who has everything, or simply want to remember a loved one who is now gone, please check out this video message from Cindy Campbell to her brother, Chris, a fallen Navy SEAL, for one great way to make a lasting contribution during this holiday season: youtube.com/watch?v=prK4aeXzXr8.